


We Belong To Each Other

by eeyore9990



Series: December Gift Fic Spree [18]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Claiming, Claiming Bites, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:51:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new pack comes to visit, bringing with it a beautiful young werewolf who seems intent on challenging Stiles’ budding relationship with Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Belong To Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zoodlemouse13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoodlemouse13/gifts).



> December Fic Spree, Day 18: Gift for Zoodlemouse!
> 
> Happy December 18th!

Stiles climbed the stairs to his porch, smiling softly as he felt Derek’s shoulder rub his own. Turning, he took a moment to marvel at this thing that had blossomed between them. Three years of terror and mutual life saving and bickering and sarcasm had all led to this: two men standing on a porch near midnight, fingers entwined and palms pressed together.

"You’re doing it again," Derek murmured, though Stiles could see how soft his own features were, how gentle the curve of his lips.

"I can’t imagine a day when it stops being amazing to me. The two of us." Stiles knew his voice was filled with the wonder he was nearly bursting with, his scent thick with it. "I never would have believed that you could ever want—" Derek’s lips swallowed his next words, turned them into a benediction-like whisper of Derek’s name. 

"I’ve never felt as sure of anything as I do of this," Derek said, pressing their foreheads together and squeezing Stiles’ hand before untangling their fingers. "Now. Go inside before I think of a million reasons to keep you with me tonight."

With a ragged breath Stiles nodded, turning toward the door and fumbling his keys. “Tell me again.” It was just a breath of sound, but he knew Derek could hear him.

"It’ll be fine. They’re not coming to start trouble, they just want to meet the new pack. Laura and I grew up with their kids. The alpha came to the funerals. No one is coming here to hurt us."

Eyes squeezed shut, Stiles nodded and slid his key into the hole by touch. “Good night.”

He heard Derek’s long sniff, pulling Stiles’ scent deep into his lungs to tide him over until they saw each other again. “Good night, Stiles.”

Stiles knew if he turned around, he’d see Derek’s eyes flaring blue. But they’d promised each other slow, so he just shut the door instead of looking.

—

The parking lot of the restaurant in Beacon Heights where the initial meeting between packs was to take place was packed with expensive-looking cars, making it difficult for Stiles to find a spot when he finally showed up the next day. He was eventually reduced to shadowing an elderly couple as they left the building. Their slow, measured steps had Stiles setting his jaw as impatience flooded him, but he tamped that down as he watched the old man help his wife into the passenger side of the vehicle, his wrinkled hands gripping the door tight when he leaned in to press a kiss to her brightly-painted lips.

A small, thoughtful smile curved his mouth, and he couldn’t help wondering if one day, eighty years from now, that wouldn’t be Derek and him. Brushing that thought away as pushing the boundaries of their agreement to take their relationship slow, Stiles pulled neatly into the spot as soon as it was vacated and hopped out of the Jeep, checking his appearance in the cracked side mirror.

His hair was still neatly groomed, his tie sort of centered, and he didn’t appear to have had any disasters with his breakfast that morning. Popping a mint in his mouth to freshen his breath, Stiles quickly entered the restaurant, where a waitress was waiting to take him to the separate room where the packs were eating.

As soon as he got there, he met Derek’s eyes and his stomach dropped. The table Derek had been seated at was filled, every chair full with no room to add another. Derek made a face back, and Stiles smiled before accepting the only remaining seat in the room.

He tried not to feel irritated at the fact that he’d been reduced to a spot at the kiddie table.

—

When Derek excused himself from his table, Stiles was out of his seat like a shot, tossing a smile at little Emmanuelle Villanueva before chasing Derek all the way to the men’s room. As soon as the door shut behind him, Stiles allowed his hands to flail over his head. “What the hell is _that_?” he hissed, mindful of the sensitive ears they’d just escaped. 

Derek sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face, the polite mask he’d been wearing falling away to be replaced with a troubled expression. “I don’t… know.”

"She was putting her hands all over you, Derek. That’s not nothing." Panic spiked through Stiles, turning him cold. "Do they… can they take you away?"

Derek was there instantly, pulling Stiles into his arms. “No. They can’t make any demands of us. You know that. You wrote up the meeting agreement.”

"Not the pack," Stiles whispered into Derek’s shoulder. "You. Is there some ancient first born son tradition that you never thought to mention?"

"Nah. I mean, you know. We’re a fairly matriarchal bunch." Derek deliberately dragged his cheek over Stiles’, scent-marking him. "I don’t know what Maria’s intentions are, Stiles. I don’t know if she’s after a flirtation or a friendship. She’s spent the whole afternoon talking about Laura, so…"

Stiles’ ire began to fade. He knew how much that meant. “Okay, just… Did you tell her—”

"She knows all about you. She knows about our first date and the movie we watched together last night. I haven’t hidden anything. I _wouldn’t_ hide you.” Derek pulled back and looked at Stiles, let him see the seriousness of his expression.

"Okay." Blowing out a breath, he pulled away from Derek and turned toward the sinks. He took a moment to collect himself, splashing water over his face. He gripped the edges of the sink hard, knuckles turning white as Derek used the urinal behind him.

After Derek washed his hands, they linked fingers and walked slowly back to the room, sides brushing, not breaking apart until Derek dropped a kiss on his lips in full view of both packs. Relaxing, Stiles seated himself and watched, admiring the cut of Derek’s trousers, as Derek walked back to his own seat. It was only because Stiles was looking that he saw what happened next.

As Derek shuffled past her to reach his own seat, Maria, the Villanueva alpha’s daughter, turned her head toward Stiles, her pretty lips twisting into a smirk right before she deliberately turned her back and placed her palm on Derek’s shoulder.

To anyone else, it would appear that she was simply trying to get Derek’s attention to pick up their earlier conversation. Stiles, though, read her intention loud and clear.

He didn’t even need to see her palm drag slightly down Derek’s chest to know Maria Villanueva was challenging him for Derek.

—

As soon as Stiles was through the loft door, he had his hands on Derek, pulling on his shirt, winding around his neck and threading into his hair. The kiss he initiated was almost violent; he bit at Derek’s lips until they opened, then licked into his mouth, trying to imprint himself _inside_ Derek. He tugged Derek’s shirt from his pants, his hands finding bare skin and curving into it, dragging his nails across the surface until Derek hissed, breaking the kiss.

"Stiles, what—" 

But Stiles didn’t wait, didn’t pause, just kept up his assault, teeth dragging over the thick stubble on Derek’s jaw and catching against the skin of his neck. Derek went stiff against him, then pushed Stiles backward before he could bite down harder. 

"Stiles!"

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but she…" Stiles shook his head, feeling wild, like he was vibrating from his core at a frequency that’d shatter him if he didn’t turn it off. "She can’t, Derek. She can’t _have_ —” He cut himself off then, his teeth sinking into his lip as concepts like _personal autonomy_ screeched in his brain.

"She can’t what? Say it, Stiles." Derek stepped forward, lifting Stiles’ chin. "Honesty, always. Stop censoring yourself and say what you want to say."

"She can’t have you. She can’t _touch you_ like she was touching you today. She can’t sit so close and lean in and laugh and offer you food off her plate, goddammit!” The vibrating increased to tremors that nearly rattled his teeth in his head.

“ _Why_?” Derek breathed, his eyes bright, boring into Stiles’.

"Because you’re _mine_!” Stiles shouted, reaching for Derek.

But Derek struck first, leaping at Stiles as soon as the last word was spoken and snatching him right up off his feet until he had to wind his legs around Derek’s waist or risk being dropped. Not that there was really a danger of that, with Derek’s arms so tight around him, pressing them so close together the buttons of Derek’s shirt dug uncomfortably into Stiles’ sternum. “Yours,” Derek groaned against Stiles’ parted lips as their mouths crashed together, tongues sliding against sharp teeth as they tried to climb inside each other.

They made it to the bed across the room, shredded clothes left in their wake. Derek turned and sat down on the mattress, hooking Stiles’ legs behind him so Stiles was sitting in his lap. Stiles’ hands skidded across Derek’s skin, and he wanted to _see_ but he couldn’t stop kissing Derek long enough to look. So he touched, traced his fingers over every inch of Derek, pressed them to the springy hair that covered his chest, wrapped them around his arms and slid them over his wide shoulders. 

Everywhere that Stiles touched on Derek’s body, Derek mirrored with his own hands on Stiles’. They were learning each other, memorizing textures and reactions, and it was almost violent in its intensity but somehow still pure and careful and _needy_. When Stiles began to rock his hips against Derek’s, squirming in his lap, Derek’s hand was there, wrapping around both their cocks and pulling, jacking them fast and tight.

Stiles tangled his fingers with Derek’s, a sob catching in his chest. He had to rip his mouth from Derek’s then and drop it to Derek’s throat, because his orgasm was already rising up in him, ready to swamp him. When it hit, he sank his teeth into Derek’s throat, clenching them tight as a high noise burst from him. He tasted blood, and the fleeting thought that he’d need to apologize flittered through him, but he was too busy coming to really pay it much mind.

His vision was already spotty when he felt Derek stiffen against him, and the scrape of teeth over _his_ neck just made him white out completely, still overwrought as pleasure piled on top of pleasure and pushed him well beyond the normal boundaries of orgasm. 

When he finally came back to himself, when his thoughts were once more his own and not pounding out a rhythm of _mine, mine, mine_ , Stiles found himself stretched out on top of Derek, who was still breathing like a racehorse underneath him. 

"Oh god," Stiles moaned, burying his face in Derek’s chest. "I feel like world’s biggest douchebag jealous boyfriend ever. Are… are you mad at me?" 

Derek snorted, still breathing hard. His voice was a little thin when he said, “Do I seem mad?”

"Well, I mean. We were supposed to be taking things slow. And I didn’t want to pressure you or anything, but look at us now. I kinda feel like maybe I pushed you into this with my whole ‘rwarr I’m a caveman, you belong to me’ schtick." Stiles traced designs in Derek’s chest hair, silently castigating himself for his reactions.

"Were you jealous?"

Lifting his head, Stiles frowned down at Derek, whose face gave nothing away. “Huh?”

"Today. In the restaurant. Were you jealous of Maria? Was what you felt jealousy?" The gravity of Derek’s voice as he asked that made Stiles stop, made him _really_ think of how he’d felt in that moment.

"No… not." Stiles tilted his head, trying to find the words to explain it. "It wasn’t really jealousy? I mean, I didn’t sit over there fuming because I thought you were going to throw everything away and run off with her. It was more…" He huffed out a breath, irritated with his own inability to express himself. "She was touching you. She doesn’t get to do that. And not because you _belong_ to me, but because you’re mine. You’re mine like I’m yours. We’ve.” Stiles stopped, pursed his lips, and tried again. “She was sitting there today reminiscing about Laura. Where was she when Laura died? Where was she went Peter went crazy or the kanima tore apart my dad’s deputies or when the Alpha pack rolled into town? Where was she when Erica and Boyd and Allison died? Where was she when you _needed_ someone?” 

"You weren’t jealous on your behalf. You were angry on mine. And that makes all the difference. Stiles," Derek shifted under him, licking his lips — which was a little unfair, because that little stress relieving episode had gone _way_ too fast, and Stiles’ body was well aware of Derek’s nakedness, “I’ve been taking things slow because that’s what you seemed to want. You never had to worry about pressuring me. I’ve been yours since the day you held me up in ten feet of water even when you were too weak to hold yourself up. Hell, I was probably yours before that, when you stared at me over Deaton’s table and promised to cut my arm off to save me.” 

"We’re kinda messed up, huh?" Stiles said. Then he winced, catching sight of the livid, bloody bite mark on the side of Derek’s neck. "Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… wait." Fear began to trickle through him when he realized the wound was bloody because it was _still bleeding_. “Fuck, Derek. Fuck, it’s not healing.”

Derek’s hand came up, cupping Stiles’ cheek and lifting his chin until Stiles reluctantly tore his gaze away from where his fingers were pressed to Derek’s throat. Derek was smiling, a little smug, a little elated. “It’s not meant to heal,” he said. “It’s a claiming bite. Mine won’t heal until yours does.”

Stiles looked back down again, a small smile curving his own mouth as his fingers moved from Derek’s throat to his own, pressing against the place he vaguely remembered Derek biting. Surging forward, he shared a deep, open-mouthed kiss with Derek until a thought made him break it. 

"Does this mean we’re married?" he asked, eyes wide.

Rolling his own eyes, Derek said, “No, Stiles.” Derek ran his hands down Stiles’ back, dragged his fingers over the round cheeks of his ass. “When we get married, you’ll know.”

Stiles had to hide a smile against Derek’s cheek — he’d said _when_ , not _if_ — squirming when Derek’s fingers began sliding into his crack.

Then, Derek’s voice came again, distracting him from the arousal quickening in his veins when he said, “There’ll be an Elvis impersonator telling us to kiss each other.”

**Author's Note:**

> More fic [in the comments here](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/20202581).


End file.
